


Hope

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Major Character Injury, Multi, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: After bouncing around from foster home to foster home, Rey has finally spent her first solid year in the same place, and while she's made friends and finds herself feeling more and more at home, she's convinced herself she'll be moving on soon.Until a split-second decision changes her life forever.





	1. Before the Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milleniumrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleniumrex/gifts).



Summer came slowly, winding through the town with the agility and speed of a lethargic cat. It seemed that it would never be warm, that the chill and frost of winter and spring would hang over everything forever. The _only_ good thing about the cold, as far as Rey was concerned, was that sometimes, when she was shivering, Poe Dameron would wrap his jacket and his arm around her shoulder. A year before, she never would have thought someone like Poe -- the most popular boy in school, athletic and beautiful, with the prettiest, darkest, most wonderful eyes -- would even know her name, let alone that he’d sit close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. 

Contending with one beautiful boy wrapping his arm around her was difficult enough, but wherever Poe was, there was Finn. Sweet, funny, fiercely loyal Finn, with his gentle hands and heart and the most wonderfully, divinely lovely voice she’d ever heard. Like Poe, Rey never would have dreamed that someone like Finn would ever notice her; let alone grow fond enough of her to walk with her through the halls with his arm draped over her and his hip nudging against hers. 

Despite enjoying how Poe hugged her and pulled his jacket around her, Rey was happy when the last of the chill was gone, and the heat returned. Not only did it mark the beginning of summer -- and summer _break_ , which all the kids could agree was the only thing that mattered in the entire world -- but it marked the end of her first solid year in a single place. 

Bouncing around from foster family to foster family wasn’t such a bad thing. It suited Rey just fine that she was constantly being shuffled around. She found that she was restless with the same faces and the same routine, and she had no intention of sticking around long enough to get _comfortable_ anywhere. And of course, needling at the back of her mind, was the truth that she didn’t want anyone to get _comfortable_ with her, either. It was easier for her to leave, than for her to deal with someone leaving her. 

Sometimes, though, usually when she was with Poe and Finn, there was an ache in her heart that she couldn’t explain. An ache that felt something like _longing_. And the word, _home_ , tantalized and taunted and, ultimately, eluded her; because home meant settling down. Home meant trusting someone enough to let all of her walls crumble -- and that meant exposing herself enough for someone to get inside, and, ultimately, hurt her. 

The word was hard to ignore, though, when she returned to the garage where she’d spent the last year, and saw the man who had opened his home and, grudgingly, his heart to her. Han Solo wasn’t a man who Rey would have described as being particularly paternal, but when he saw her approaching, he smiled -- something crooked and boyish that made him look forty years younger -- and wiped grease from his hands from an already grease-soaked rag. 

Chewie, a large, hairy man, who chewed enough tobacco to earn a _nickname_ , grunted and rested his hands on his narrow hips, sucking on his chew and greeting Rey with nod of his head. He said something to Han, unintelligible, and Han laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, slapping Chewie on the back and earning a pleased grin from the man. “Yeah, I bet,” Han said. 

“What?” Rey asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Han chuckled. “You wouldn’t get it. Anyway, you’re late kid. Thought I told you to be home by 4.”

Rey shrugged, sliding her backpack from her shoulder and dropping it on a table littered with oily, grimy tools. It was no wonder everyone had begun to refer to her as _Greasestain_ , not-so-affectionately, and not to her face; but apt, despite its cruelty. She was almost always covered in grease and filth, either from working in the garage, or just from tossing her things down without thinking.

Not that she minded. Rey felt her most comfortable when she was up to her elbows in an engine, slicked with oil. And if the kids at school wanted to tease her and give her an unflattering nickname, it didn’t matter to her; she was sure that she’d be gone soon enough, on to another town where the kids would come up with their own name for her. 

“There was an assembly,” Rey said. “It ran over.”

“Assembly on what?”

“Nothing,” Rey evaded. She didn’t want Han to know that there was a party coming up. He might actually make her _go_ , and the idea of spending a night on the beach with kids who had decided she was nothing but a lumbering oil-stained freak didn’t exactly appeal to her. “What are you guys working on?”

“Ah, nothing,” Han said. He seemed content to let the matter go, and Rey breathed a sigh of relief. “Chewie found this old abandoned clunker down at the junkyard, and we’re seeing if we can get her running again. He bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t make her purr in the next week. I told him I don’t like taking money from dumb people who don’t know how to bet, but he insisted.”

Chewie laughed and said something Rey couldn’t understand. Of course, she could never understand _anything_ he said. No one could, except, of course, for Han, who seemed to understand a language no one else could. 

“I can help,” Rey offered, but Chewie grumbled something and Han shook his head. 

“Nah, kid,” Han said. “Chewie bet _I_ couldn’t fix this thing up. If two people are working on her, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Yeah,” Rey said. “And we all know how concerned you are about being fair. Mr. Calrissian told me all about how honest and forthcoming you are.”

“Don’t listen to a liar like Lando,” Han said, as Chewie laughed uproariously. “He’s out to destroy my reputation.”

“He said you owe him over nine hundred dollars,” Rey said.

“It’s _half that_ now,” Han argued. “And I told him I’m good for it.”

“Well, whatever,” Rey said, grabbing up her backpack and heading for the door. “I have a ton of homework anyway.”

As she moved past, Han grabbed a slip of paper from the flap of her backpack, unfolding it and reading it quickly while Rey jumped and tried to grab it from his hands. “Hey! You can’t just grab stuff from my bag,” she protested. “This isn’t a dictatorship.”

“Nah,” Han said, eyes flicking over the paper. “It’s a kingdom. The Kingdom of Solo.”

“Bullshit,” Rey snapped.

“Look at this, Chewie,” Han said, handing the paper over. “Looks like there’s a shindig going on down at the beach next weekend. Supposed to be a lot of fun. Fireworks and roasting marshmallows and splashing around in the surf.”

Chewie grunted approvingly.

“But it’s just for kids,” Han said. “Isn’t that funny? I happen to _know_ a kid who’d probably have a lot of fun.”

Rey could feel a flush burning behind her ears, as she snatched the paper from Chewie’s hands and crumpled it into a ball. She’d thought Han would actually be cool about the whole thing, that he wouldn’t be such a _grown-up_ about it and make her go, but there he was, smiling smugly as she tossed the paper into the wastebasket. 

“I’m not going,” she stated, matter-of-factly. 

Han shrugged. “Sounds fun. And I bet those friends of yours will be there. What are their names again? McDreamy and McSteamy?”

“Poe and Finn,” Rey snapped, and bit her lip as the flush behind her ears spread over her face. 

“Right, yeah,” Han said. “I bet they’ll have their shirts off and everything.”

“I don’t care,” Rey bit, now so angry and flushed that her body was shaking. “I don’t want to go.”

“Fine,” Han said. “Don’t go.”

Rey had been preparing herself for a long, arduous battle, and hearing Han agree to let her stay home shook her. She wasn’t used to an adult being so... nonchalant about their attempts at parenting. Han wasn’t anything she was used to, and when he returned to work and let the subject rest, Rey stood there awkwardly, not sure if the matter was really settled or if Han was only waiting for her to attempt to leave to stir the pot further. 

Hoping against hope that it was finished, Rey headed for the door again. When Han remained quiet, she went inside, not really feeling like she’d won anything.

Chewie said something, and Han chuckled.

“Nah, she’s going. But I’ll let her stew in it for a bit. I’m new to this whole ‘dad’ thing, but I know the basics.”

****

“You’re not going?” Poe asked, the next day at lunch. He slid into his seat beside Rey, elbowing her gently when she didn’t look up. It was difficult enough to meet his eyes, with how devastatingly gorgeous he was, but today it was impossible. She knew he’d be disappointed, and she didn’t want to see the look on his face and feel her resolve crumble. 

“No,” she said.

“Really?” Finn chimed in. “Why not? I mean, it’ll be a little corny, I guess, but we can have fun together.”

If she struggled to meet Poe’s eyes, there was no way she could have met Finn’s. They seemed deeper than they had a right to be, and she always kind of felt like she could get lost there, and be perfectly happy. 

“Yeah,” Poe agreed. “Come on, Rey.”

It was so easy for them. Neither of them had to worry about kids teasing and taunting them. Neither of them had to think about how skinny they were, or how they seemed to be all knees and elbows, how they never really felt coordinated or graceful unless they had an engine in their hands. Poe and Finn were athletic, and fit, and charismatic, and warm, and seemed to draw people to them like moths to a flame. 

Finn, at least, knew something about being watched and judged. More than once, she’d seen other kids watching him as he trained for track, whispering to each other about his prosthetic. Not in a mean way, she didn’t believe, but still; she didn’t want to be looked at and whispered about. 

But she also didn’t want to spend the evening inside, listening to Han banging around in the garage until the wee hours of the morning. 

“I don’t know,” Rey said, already feeling herself being swayed. 

“What if I promised to play you a song?” Poe asked, elbowing her gently once more. She looked up in time to see him wink at Finn, and she watched the way Finn’s dark skin flushed, and how he looked away quickly. It was no secret that Finn had a crush on Poe -- at least, it wasn’t a secret to anyone except Poe. He seemed oblivious to his own good looks and charm, which only made him more appealing. 

“What kind of song?” Rey asked, feeling her resolve becoming flimsier and flimsier. 

“Whatever song you want,” Poe said, draping his arm over her shoulder and hugging her close. “You name it, I’ll play it.”

“Make him play speed metal,” Finn suggested, snorting with laughter when Poe lobbed a french fry at him. 

Rey thought about sitting on the beach, around a fire, between Poe and Finn, while Poe played her something sweet and slow and romantic. She felt her heart knock against her ribs, and she was suddenly and painfully aware of just how badly she wanted to kiss him, _them_. Blushing deeply, but not ready to be out from under Poe’s arm, Rey nestled closer to him and shyly said: “A slow song, maybe?”

“Of course,” Poe said. “Whatever you want.”

“So you’ll come?” Finn asked. If Rey had been able to meet his eyes, she would have seen a longing in them that would have reminded her of how Finn watched Poe, but she kept her eyes down. 

“I guess, yeah,” Rey said. “I mean, you guys wouldn’t let me stay at home anyway.”

“Not alone,” Poe agreed.

“We’re like the Three Musketeers,” Finn said.

“All for one and one for all,” Poe said, snagging a slice of pepperoni from Finn’s pizza. “That includes pepperoni.”

“Come on,” Finn said. “I don’t know where that hand's been.”

As they teased each other, Rey realized -- with no real drama or reluctance -- that she loved them. Painfully and completely, and without any pretense. It made her sad that she’d be leaving, most likely, even if she knew it was what was best for her, and for them, in the long run. Better that she leave before they did something foolish and loved her back. Or, more likely, before they got tired of her and pushed her away. 

Still, the beach would be fun. Poe would sing her a song, and Finn would sit with his arms around her, and for a night, it would be perfect. 

Rey was almost looking forward to it.

****

They raced each other home that afternoon, and Rey reflected on how wonderful it felt to run in the heat, to feel the sweat prick on her skin and feel her heart hammering in her chest. And she reflected, too, on how nice it was when she outran the boys, laughing delightedly as they huffed and puffed with their hands on their knees. 

“You’ve got those long legs,” Finn said. “I can’t keep up with that.”

“I’m built for stability,” Poe said. “Not speed.”

“That sounds a lot like excuses to me,” Rey teased, resting her hands on her hips. “You boys don’t like losing to a girl, huh?”

“I don’t mind losing to a girl,” Poe said. “I hate losing to _you_. You’re the worst winner.” Proving him right, Rey strutted the rest of the way home, only stopping when she reached the open door of the garage and saw Han bent over the old clunker from the junkyard as Chewie stood by, obviously taunting him. 

Rey turned, and the sun caught her hair as she untied her ponytail and let it spill over her shoulders. If she’d paid any attention, she would have seen the boys look at each other, and back at her with hungry admiration. But she was focused on keeping her backpack settled on her shoulder as she retied her hair, and missed their eyes on her. When she looked back, they were looking away, their hands shoved deep in their pockets.

“I better get home,” Finn said. “If I’m late again, I’m gonna be in serious trouble.”

Typically, Poe and Rey would tease someone for being so serious about their curfew, but with a mother like Leia Organa, it was understandable. She was the mayor of their city, and Rey heard she ran her household the same way she did their town; strictly. Not that she was a hard, cold woman, just... focused, and intent on being flawless. 

They said goodbye, Finn and Poe hugging her before moving on together. They raced each other, laughing and shouting insults at each other as they ran. There was that feeling again, aching, deep in her chest, as she watched them, but she ignored it and headed inside. 

She’d be gone soon. It was best not to get too close, or let anyone too close to her.

As she passed Han, he gave her another of her lopsided smiles that only made the ache in her chest worst. 

Rey did her best to ignore it.


	2. At The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beach party with Poe and Finn, Rey finds herself unable and unwilling to tell them that she'll be leaving.

The last week of school was interminable. It seemed that the closer they got to finally being free for the summer, the longer the days dragged. Finn, ever the optimist, reminded Poe and Rey that they'd have almost _three months_ of freedom, and all they had to do was last another four days. But he knew as well as they did that the summer would breeze by them, and they'd return in the fall to be caged all over again. 

Poe seemed more upset about the return in the fall than his friends. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he'd be a senior, and he'd be saying goodbye to them before he was ready. Rey didn't have the heart to tell him that the odds of her sticking around were nonexistent. Instead, she focused on the beach party, and kept her mind occupied with happier things.

In her short life, she'd learned that happiness was rare and fleeting, and she wanted to take hold of it and keep it for as long as she was able. At the same time next year, she'd be in a new school, in a new temporary home, and Finn and Poe most likely wouldn't even think of her.

The thought of that hurt more than she was comfortable admitting, and she pushed it away.

On the last day of school, there was an obvious tension in the air. Restless, aimless excitement that seemed to take up space in the room. Rey could feel it tingling on her skin, making her hair stand on end, and when the final bell rang, all of that built up energy discharged in raucous cheering and the sound of over fifteen hundred feet rushing through the halls at once.

They burst out into the afternoon, hot and muggy now that summer had officially arrived, and the energy continued to roil through them. It was, honestly, the strangest and most delightful feeling Rey had ever experienced, and she felt a twinge of sadness that she couldn't put into words that this place wasn't her home. She existed liminally, in a space that would soon be empty, and at fifteen, the idea that she could be so small and forgotten hurt beyond words.

Existential dread, she was learning, was as natural as breathing when you were a teenager.

Finn and Poe were waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. Poe was leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, while Finn was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets, facing her as she bounded down the stairs. He was dressed in his track uniform, and she admired the way his muscles bunched, and the way sweat glistened on his brown skin. Poe seemed to admire it too, because when Rey glanced at him and smiled, he was chewing his bottom lip and studying Finn with a high flush on his face.

It was nice to have no need for words, and to slip so seamlessly and effortlessly between them as they walked. Their arms were around her, and even if it was hot and stifling, Rey didn't mind. 

They walked her home in comfortable silence, and when they reached the garage, they hugged her. The smell of them was sweat and something wonderfully _them_ , and Rey wasn't shy about nestling against them before she pulled away. Maybe she would be gone soon, and maybe they wouldn't think of her in six weeks or six months or ten years from now; but in that moment they loved her and she loved them, and it was enough.

Not that she'd ever _tell_ them. She would rather have every hair on her head plucked out one by one than ever tell them how she felt about them. 

“See you tomorrow?” Poe asked. Maybe he'd meant it to be a statement, but his voice and his brows lifted on the last syllable. 

“Yeah,” Rey said. “Looking forward to it.”

And she was. But underneath the excitement, was a mounting dread. She knew she'd be saying goodbye soon, and this was the last good thing they'd share together.

They told her goodbye, and raced each other down the road, laughing and shouting and so achingly beautiful Rey found it hard to watch them.

Han stopped her as she entered the garage and headed for the house, and Rey’s heart lurched. The look on his face was more serious than she'd ever seen him, and she knew this was The Talk she'd been fearing. Her year was over, and he was going to tell her that he didn't want to keep her around. It stung, harshly, and she felt tears prick her eyes. She blinked them back, but she could taste them at the back of her throat. 

Of course she'd known this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. 

“We gotta talk, kid,” Han said, and Rey braced herself for what came next. Every person sugar-coated it as best they could, but what it boiled down to was simple: No one wanted her.

“Okay,” Rey said. “We're talking now, aren't we?”

Han smiled, and she couldn't tell if it was a pained smile or not. He was impossible to get a read on. 

“You've been here a year,” Han started. “And I was thinking that---”

The phone rang, shrilly, making both of them jump. It rang again, as they stared at each other, before Han snatched it up and snarled a greeting. In an instant, he seemed to forget that he'd wanted to talk to her, as he cursed and banged around the garage, incensed over something she could only get half the story of. Quietly, Rey slipped out of the garage and into the house, all but racing into her room.

She hoped that Han would forget he'd wanted to speak with her, and sure enough, when he called her down to dinner later, he didn't bring anything up with her except the beach party the next night.

Rey knew that it was only delaying the inevitable, but she felt a surge of relief all the same. 

“Those two boys are going with you?” Han asked. 

Rey felt her face burning. “They're not going _with me_ ,” she corrected. “We're just hanging out _together_. All the kids are gonna be there, it's not like it's a _date_ or anything.”

“Easy, easy,” Han chuckled. “I didn't mean nothin’ by it. Just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna be there alone, mopin’ on the beach.”

Was that all he thought she did? Mope around? 

“I don't _mope_ ,” Rey snapped.

“No,” Han teased. “You _never_ mope.”

“I _don't_ ,” Rey challenged, her fingers curling against her palms. She _hated_ being mocked. Now that school was over, she'd _thought_ she'd be free of being teased. 

“Kid, if there was an Olympic sport of moping, you'd win the gold.”

Rey shoved away from the table, standing up with her fists balled at her sides. “I'd like to be excused,” she said. There were tears again, hot and stinging at her eyes and throat, and she refused to let Han see her cry like some _baby_.

“Come on, kid, I didn't---”

“I'd like to be excused, _please_ ,” Rey bit, and when Han nodded, she stomped up the stairs to her room.

Maybe it was best that she'd be gone soon, if Han found her so moping and miserable. It didn't matter that this was the first place that had felt like home and like _hers_ ; she would just have to find some other place to settle for a few months before she was moved along again.

She must have cried herself to sleep, because she woke up at a knock on her door. Her head was aching, and she grumbled something that Han apparently took as an invitation to come in. Rey refused to look at him, and surprisingly, Han didn't press her for any kind of conversation or even acknowledgement. He simply patted her head, whispered a quick apology, and left her some water on her bedside table. 

It was the first time someone had taken the time to be _gentle_ and _considerate_ with her, and it made her feel silly for holding on to her anger. 

Not silly enough to go to him and apologize, however. 

Han would push her away soon. 

Better to keep her guard up.

****

He was a fat, round orange tabby, that purred loudly when you scratched behind his ears or under his chin. Poe doted on him, and everyone flocked to him when he had his cat perched on his lap. Of course, people flocked to Poe _anyway_ , but there was a built-in excuse when BeeBee was there. 

“Does he walk or just roll everywhere?” Finn teased, as he scratched BeeBee’s ear. 

“Ha-ha,” Poe said. “Don't listen to him, Bee. You're perfect the way you are.”

The crowd around them laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Rey wondered if _everyone_ was a little in-love with Poe. Not that she necessarily _blamed_ them, but there was a small part of her that just wanted him to be hers and Finn's. 

When he replaced the cat in his lap with his guitar, and announced to the crowd that he was playing a song for her, Rey could feel dozens of jealous eyes on her. If looks could have killed, she would have fallen down dead in the sand; but she only sat there with Finn’s arms draped over her, with BeeBee purring loudly in her lap as Poe started to sing. 

By the time he was finished, Rey was sure that she couldn't possibly love him any more than she did in that moment. His voice was sweet and soft and sensual, and his fingers plucked and tweaked the strings with effortless ease. His hair slipped over his forehead, heavy waves that shaded his dark eyes, and there was a tremendous _ache_ in her when his eyes found hers.

It was the absolute perfect moment. His song filled the air as the fire they sat around danced and flickered in his eyes. And Finn was wrapped around her, warm and solid and wonderful, the springy curls of his hair tickling her ear. If she could have stopped time and stayed there with them, forever, she would have.

The final chord of the song vibrated through the crowd before they erupted into wild cheering. And the moment shattered, just that simply, as they enveloped Poe and Finn slipped away from her to join them. 

“I love him,” Rey sighed, and she looked down to see BeeBee looking up at her with his big, glowing eyes. “I love both of them. I wish I could stay.”

BeeBee yawned.

“Oh, fine,” Rey laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.”

****

As the night wound down, Poe suggested they go for a walk along the pier, and Rey and Finn were all too happy to have some distance between themselves and the rest of the kids on the beach. Or maybe they were just happy to have Poe to themselves, walking between them, with his hand in Rey’s back pocket, and his hand curled on Finn’s hip. 

They talked about nothing and everything at once. About the party, and the way the moon seemed to hang in the water, as far out of reach as it was in the sky. They talked about finals, about how they hadn’t eaten or slept the night before their last exam. They talked about their families, with Finn making them both laugh until their sides ached with his impression of Leia. 

And then, as inevitable as the ebb and flow of the tide, their conversation turned to the future. Easy enough when it remained vague, when it remained focused on plans that were years away, or dreams that would never come true; but of course, they soon turned to the immediacy of _now_ , of _right this instant_ , and Rey felt her heart lurch into her throat. They wanted to know what she planned to do that summer, and whether she would join them when their family’s went on vacation together. They looked at her with open, and genuine, affection, both of them hoping that she’d tell them she would be with them, that she’d be a constant in their lives. 

But she hadn’t been meant for constancy. Her family hadn’t wanted her, and unlike Finn, she hadn’t found her true family yet. She thought of Han stroking her hair as she cried, of his whispered apology and the glass of water left on her bedside, and she shoved the thoughts away. They would only hurt her, in the end. They would only shred her heart open when he pushed her away, the same way Poe and Finn’s soft, warm eyes would if she let herself get lost in them. 

Her courage was gone, and all she could do was look helplessly between them as their conversation came to a screeching halt. One moment, two, and the look on their faces began to shift from carefree joy to cautious concern. She couldn’t tell them she would be gone soon, that she occupied a space in their lives that would soon be empty, and so she did the only thing she _could_ do, the only thing that seemed to make any sense:

She took off down the pier, her shoes slapping against the planks as she ran. The water would be deep and dark and cool, and for an instant when her body hit it and she sank down into it, nothing would matter. There wouldn’t be anyone but her in the water, and the sound of her own heart in her ears, and it was what she needed more than anything. 

At the end of the pier, she looked down into the water, as it rolled and splashed against the pilings. A spike of fear ran jagged through her chest, but she ignored it: it didn’t look as dangerous as Finn and Poe’s eyes, asking her silent questions. 

Rey jumped, diving into the black water, as Poe and Finn shouted and laughed behind her. 

Later, she would wonder what she’d been thinking, making such a rash and reckless decision. But she was fifteen, and she was in love, and she was sure that she would have to say goodbye to the only thing -- the only people -- that had ever made sense, that had ever felt like _hers_ , and she felt she was allowed to be rash and reckless. 

But every decision, she learned, had a consequence.

Every decision cost something.

****

She disappeared under the waves.

They waited, their laughter fading into silence. A second, two, three -- she stayed down in the water, and Poe and Finn exchanged a worried glance before they caught a glimpse of her under the water. 

Motionless. 

Poe tore off his jacket and thrust it at Finn, who only had time to scream his name before he dove off the pier and down into the water after Rey. It seemed like an eternity between when he dove into the water and when he came up with Rey in his arms. Finn felt a surge of relief at seeing them, but it was instantly gone when Poe screamed that he needed help, that she wasn’t responding.

Racing from the pier down to the beach, beneath the pilings, into the rocks and cold surf, Finn could only work on instinct and adrenaline. He met Poe in the water as he came to shore, taking Rey from him and getting her onto the sand. 

By then, a crowd had formed, scared kids who looked like they weren’t even old enough for grade school, let alone high school. They looked on helplessly, only some of them having the good sense to take their phones out and call for help. 

Finn held Rey’s head on his lap. She was bleeding from a gash at the back of her head, and he held Poe’s jacket to the wound, applying pressure and fighting against the tears that pricked at his eyes. Poe performed CPR, calmer and more composed than Finn could manage, but when he looked up at Finn, his eyes were wild and frantic. 

Rey coughed up water, and took a shuddering, staggering breath. She looked up at Finn, her eyes glassy and dazed.

“I can’t move,” she said, eerily calm. “I can’t feel my body.”

Shock, Finn thought, that was all. She was in shock. He meant to tell her that, but when he looked down at her, she’d fallen unconscious again. 

But she was breathing, and he could hear sirens wailing as the ambulance raced to them. 

“Shit,” Finn swore, shaking, with Rey’s blood on his palm.

“Fucking stupid,” Poe said, with only sad affection in his voice as he smoothed Rey’s hair from her forehead. “You could have died.”

Neither of them knew what had really happened down in the water when Rey had landed. 

Every choice had a consequence. 

Every choice cost _something_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for character injury!!! :(


	3. After the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After jumping from the pier and injuring herself badly, Rey's friends and loved ones gather around her at the hospital.

The doctor spoke in words that Han didn’t understand. Clinical, technical, and complicated words that made his head and heart hurt. More than once, he interrupted and asked him to fucking well _tell him_ what had happened, how Rey was, if she would pull through, and the man kept to his cryptic medical language.

Something about the vertebrae, about something broken, and Han knew enough to know what that meant. He asked, plainly, if she’d ever walk again, and the man, despite relying on his complex words before, replied just as plainly: “No.”

Everything _sank_. Moving into the waiting room, his body sank into a chair, his head sank into his hands, his heart sank into the hollow of his chest. All he could think was that if he hadn’t been so insistent on her going to that party, if he hadn’t made it seem like it was something a _normal_ kid her age would want to do, she wouldn’t be in some hospital room hooked up to a respirator, trapped in a state of limbo. 

If he hadn’t pressured her to fit in at a place she thought of as only a temporary stop, she’d wouldn’t be fighting for her life.

There was a hand, soft and cool, at the nape of his neck. He didn’t look up, but he knew who it was. He could smell her perfume, as familiar as the scent of his own skin. Leia sat down in the chair beside him, squeezing gently, and leaning close to him. If she apologized, he might scream. The last thing he wanted was _sympathy_ from someone who knew damn well he hated being pitied. He didn’t deserve sympathy when Rey was the one struggling and hurting, and when he was responsible for everything she was going through. 

But instead, Leia whispered: “I never thought you’d make room for a kid in your house. I just assumed all your junk took up too much room.”

He smiled. That was why he loved her, he guessed, and why he always would. She knew what he needed to hear, and what he needed to do to pull his head out of his own ass and stop feeling sorry for himself. Rey was the one hurting, the one that might not make it through the night, and he needed to be strong for her. 

“Tell me how she is,” Leia said, pulling back from him, but leaving her hand curled at the nape of his neck. 

“Bad,” Han said, and that seemed to be the truest thing he could have said. The doctor had his complicated, complex, cryptic language, but Han Solo had never believed in mincing words. “She won’t walk again. Or even hold a pencil.” The truth of it, out in plain words, made his eyes prick with tears, and he scrubbed at his face with the heel of his palm. 

“Shit,” Leia said, softly, squeezing his neck on the word. That seemed to be the only thing she could say. Han could sense her going through every platitude and rejecting it, and he loved her all over again when she refused all of them, and only repeated: “Shit.”

_Yeah_ , Han thought, and when Leia pulled him close, when his face was tucked against the hollow of her throat, he closed his eyes and silently agreed: _Shit._

****

He dreamed of the water. 

Deep, black, endless. He dreamed of swimming and swimming, of sinking and sinking, until his lungs and every atom of his body were filled and made of water. Somewhere in that blackness, he could feel her; he knew she was close, but he couldn’t find her. He _ached_ , in a way he’d never known before, and when he opened his mouth to scream her name, water rushed to fill the circle of his mouth. 

There were hands on him, grabbing him and shaking him, and he panicked, swinging against the yawning blackness of the water wildly; but the water was gone, and it was Finn’s concerned face he was swinging at. Before Poe could pull his punch, it landed on Finn’s cheek, and he felt the force of it vibrate up his arm. 

“Shit,” Poe swore, still quite sure he was dreaming even as he sat up and gripped Finn by the front of his jacket. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Finn. Fuck.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Finn said, holding his cheek. “Guess that’s why they say to never wake someone when they’re having a bad dream.”

“I’m sorry,” Poe repeated, gently pulling Finn’s hand from his cheek and replacing it with his own fingertips. He didn’t know if his skin was hot because of the punch, or because of something else, but when his eyes flicked to Finn’s, he thought it probably had little to do with being struck. He swallowed, pressing his fingers over the growing lump on Finn’s cheek, leaning in a little closer for--- 

Well, he didn’t exactly _know_. But he knew that it wasn’t something they should do in the busy waiting room of a hospital, while their friend was somewhere hurt or worse. 

Poe let go of Finn’s jacket, and let his fingertips drift from his cheek to rest less intimately on his elbow. “Um, has there been any word yet?” Poe asked.

“No one’s told me anything,” Finn said. “Mom was talking to Mr. Solo, but--- Here she comes.” He stood, jogging over to where Leia was striding through the waiting room. She looked terrible -- haggard and harried and _hurt_ \-- and Poe felt his heart sink as she led Finn to a seat and sat him down gently. She leaned in close to him, and they spoke for a few moments, before Finn pushed away from her and drew into himself.

He pulled his legs up into the chair and rested his head against them, curling his arms around his head and ignoring anything else Leia tried to tell them. Poe realized that he wasn’t breathing when his head became dizzy and light, and his vision grayed at the edges. He sucked in air, hard, feeling it slam into his stomach like a balled fist. 

Leia stroked Finn’s back in gentle circles, and when Poe crossed over to where they sat, she looked up at him with eyes that were infinitely tired and sad. Poe sank down beside Finn, instinctively cupping his palm at the crown of his head, fingers tenderly playing in the tight spring of his curls. 

“What happened?” Poe asked. He didn’t want to know, but he _had_ to know. He couldn’t hear much over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he heard enough. By the time Leia finished telling him that Rey was paralyzed, that she wouldn’t have the use of her legs or her arms for the rest of her life, he was crying, and he didn’t particularly care who saw him. Breath came roughly, sharply, through his tears, and he ended up, somehow, in Finn’s arms. 

“We were having fun,” Poe kept repeating. “Why’d she go and do something so stupid?”

But what he really wondered was why neither of them had tried to stop her. 

It was only when they’d asked her what her plans were for the summer that she’d taken off down the pier and jumped from the end like she couldn’t have enough space between herself and the conversation.

And now all of her plans were done, because of one choice and one mistake. Poe couldn’t put into words, or even form thoughts around, how badly he hurt for her, and so he nestled closer to Finn and they held each other. It was the only thing they could do, and the only thing that made the world seem a little bit kinder. 

****

She dreamed of the water. 

Deep, black, endless. 

Somewhere in that dark expanse, she was sinking. And it wasn’t an altogether terrible feeling as the water rushed and surged around her and every care and concern and worry she’d ever had seemed so small and distant and infinitesimal. Here, there was nothing but the water and her heart beating in her ears. Here, there was no feeling of not being good enough, of having no _permanency_. 

Here, there were no boys with soft eyes that begged her to stay, and no old man with a crooked smile that made her feel like she might be home.

There was only the deep, black, endless water. 

Rey was aware of someone saying her name, but it sounded so tiny and indistinct and unimportant that she easily ignored it, for a time. But it grew louder and louder and pierced through the infinite darkness until she was dragged out into the light. She wanted to shove whoever had taken her from the dark away, but she couldn’t seem to move her arms. That was strange, she was sure that she wasn’t dreaming -- that the water and the sinking had been the dream -- but she couldn’t seem to move _at all_. 

It came back to her, in distorted flashes. Running down the pier with her shoes slapping against the planks as Poe and Finn had laughed behind her. Jumping down into the water and sinking, sinking---

Desperately, feeling panic well up in her chest, Rey tried to move. First her fingers and her wrists, and then her toes and her ankles. She made a noise, wild and scared, down in her throat, and whoever had pulled her from the dark was there, with their hands and their voice trying to ease her. 

“Kid, hey,” they said. “Come on. It’s alright. Settle down. Just breathe, okay?”

_That_ she could do. She sucked in air, and held it until her head swam, before exhaling slowly.

It was Han with her, looking ten years older, new lines on his face and heavy bags under his eyes. There was no crooked, boyish smile on his face now to make him look handsome and youthful. In fact, he looked as though he might never have smiled before in his life, and that he would never smile again. 

She looked up at him, hopelessly, helplessly, thinking that if she did that, he would help her. He'd _have_ to help her. There had to be something he could do so she could at least raise her arms. Even with the realization dawning of _why_ she couldn't move, Rey clung desperately to the idea that her hands were bound. That made no sense, considering she was obviously in a hospital, but she seized onto it with a crazed _need_ for it to be true.

“Kid,” Han said, softly, softer than she'd ever heard him sound, and her heart hurt. That was the voice of a man who was about to destroy her entire world, and Rey didn't want to hear what came next. What she wanted was to be back in the water, back in the bottomless black depths where nothing hurt and nothing _mattered._

Oscillating between fear and anger, Rey gripped onto the latter with all of her might. Anger made her stronger, it fueled her, and it didn't matter if Han _deserved_ her anger or not; he was the closest person, and he caught the brunt of it. What did it matter if it was _fair_ or not? Life was _never_ fair. She was fifteen years old and she couldn't feel her body, and _that_ was unfair.

“Don't,” she said, and Han started a bit at the venom in her voice. “Don't you _dare_.”

Her eyes were burning, and when she blinked, hot tears rolled down her temples. Han dabbed them away with a tissue, and his own eyes were wet and red-rimmed, like he'd been crying before, and _that_ sent the anger away in a cold rush of _anguish_. Her face scrunched up, and she was sobbing, messily and noisily, with no care or concern for who could hear her. 

Han smoothed her hair from her forehead and kept dabbing at her tears, but he made no move to hush her. He let her cry, until her breathing came in long, deep whoops, and she was hiccuping on her tears. 

“I'm so damn sorry, kid,” he said. “I'm so damn sorry.”

Every dream she'd ever had for herself, every hope she'd ever held, was over and gone. And she felt herself _grieving_ for a life she would never get to live. Rey couldn't describe the sadness of grieving for herself, the absolute loneliness and sorrow that she felt knowing that she would spend the rest of her life in a body she couldn't move. 

Han leaned down and kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes and felt her tears run hot over her ears. 

He kept apologizing, and Rey kept letting him. 

But she would never forgive herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one hurt me a lot to write. :(


	4. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey puts her head down and decides to ignore everyone telling her that she'll never walk again. But as her discharge date from the hospital draws nearer, she finds it difficult to keep her stubborn belief.

Luke Skywalker was, in the opinion of everyone he had worked with, a kind and gentle man with the best heart they had ever known. Finn said as much, on one of his many visits to Rey, telling her of how Luke had led him through the darkest and bleakest of his depression after losing his leg. 

There was only one problem: Rey _wasn't_ depressed, and she didn't need a therapist to help her “cope” with her disability, because she also _wasn't_ disabled. She would walk again, and everyone who looked at her with soft pity in their eyes when she swore to them she would -- Finn and Poe and Han and Leia -- would be sorry they hadn't believed her. 

She _would_ walk again. It didn't matter to her that she was told she _couldn't_ , that she _wouldn't_ , that she had to make peace with reality and take her time to grieve and to process and to move forward -- that only made her certainty that she _could_ and she _would_ that much stronger.

Her entire life, Rey had found herself with her back against the wall, listening to people tell her what she wasn't capable of. And always, _always_ , she proved them wrong. If she walked again out of pure spite, it wouldn't surprise her.

But as the summer months moved into autumn, and she watched the leaves turn from vibrant green to fiery red, before drifting to the ground, there was... _uncertainty_. Rehabilitation was getting her nowhere, and every time she met with the therapist, she could see the exasperated pity in the woman's eyes; she was sorry, but she was also tired of having her time wasted. After three months, Rey still couldn't move anything below her shoulders, and her doctors started preparing her for life as a quadriplegic. 

Still, stubbornly, she refused to listen as they told her about the wheelchair she would use, and how she would move it with some strange straw-like device she blew into. And she refused to listen when they told her of the mouthpiece she would use for everything else; turning the pages of a book, opening apps on her smartphone, even typing a simple text to Poe or Finn. 

But she listened to Luke.

It was impossible not to. He had a soothing, easing presence, and the softest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen. He made her feel, for the first time since her accident, that she was _capable_ of more than even she knew. Not of movement, really -- Rey could see in his eyes that he believed as her friends and doctors did that she would never walk or use her hands again -- but of _spirit_. There was a strength in her that seemed to surprise and amaze him.

“Tell me how you feel,” Luke said, the first time they met.

No one had asked her how she'd felt. They'd told her how _they_ felt, and they apologized over and over to her, but no one had simply asked how she'd felt. And now that the question was there, hanging in the air between them, Rey honestly didn't _know_ how to answer. 

For one, she felt _angry_. _Cheated_. She felt as though someone had stolen something from her, which was irrational, but when she voiced it aloud, Luke nodded like it was the most _rational_ thing he'd ever heard. 

“That's understandable,” he said. He was ineffably gentle and patient, and it was proving to be a comfort and a source of annoyance. “You're fifteen and you've lost something very vital to you: your independence. Tell me what else you feel.”

_Afraid_ , she almost said aloud, but she stopped herself. That wasn't something she felt comfortable admitting to _herself_ , let alone to some soft-eyed man who didn't know her and wouldn't care for her once she was at home living the rest of her life. 

“I wish everyone would stop feeling sorry for me,” she whispered. And there was something worse than admitting to being afraid; Rey started to cry. And, as if things couldn't get _even worse_ , Luke was there with his hand on her shoulder. She could feel his fingers applying pressure, and it struck her, sharply and painfully and suddenly, that that was all she would ever feel. Fingers on her shoulders, or cupping her face, and lips on her forehead. 

She wouldn't feel oil between her fingers, or the curl of her fingertips over the shaft of a wrench. She wouldn’t feel the pain of dropping a heavy piece of scrap metal on her foot -- in fact, she wouldn’t even be able to _hold_ any heavy piece of scrap metal. And, what hurt even worse, was that she wouldn’t feel the wind in her hair as she raced along with Finn and Poe; she wouldn’t feel her heart beating hard and wild and so full of love for them, as they raced after her struggling to keep up. 

But she didn’t want their pity. What she wanted was for them to stop looking at her as though she’d died. There was a grief in the way they watched her that made gooseflesh spread up her arms, as though she was a spirit haunting a shell of a body; as though they had lost her.

“Do _you_ feel sorry for you?” Luke asked. Always patient, always soft, but there was something prodding about his questions. Still, he did it so gently that she didn’t even notice that he was directing her towards some kind of helpless acceptance. 

“No,” Rey said, quickly, blinking back the tears that tried to well up in her eyes again. “That’s stupid. There’s nothing to feel sorry _for_. I’m going to walk again.”

Luke didn’t dissuade her from her belief that she would someday have her mobility back, instead, he kept pressing: “Tell me what else you feel.”

“Right now I feel annoyed,” Rey snapped. “You’re asking me all these questions and I don’t _want_ to answer.”

Finally, that seemed to silence him. Rey almost believed that he’d given up and left her, when she heard him sit back down and sigh a little as he settled once more. Frustrated, nearly in tears for the third time in a matter of years, Rey shakily demanded: “What do you want to hear from me?”

“The truth,” Luke said, still gentle, still patient. “That’s all. Just tell me the truth. What else do you feel?”

“I’m afraid,” Rey blurted, more to shut him up than as any kind of grand admission. All she wanted was for him to leave and stop needling her with all of these pointless, stupid, inane questions. “I’m afraid that they’re right and I’ll never walk again. And I’m afraid that everyone will forget me.”

That hurt her more than she’d ever admit. The grief in the eyes of the people she loved would eventually fade into what always followed grief: acceptance, and an absence of thought. Soon, she would haunt their memories the way they seemed to believe she haunted her own body, and the idea that she would be alone and afraid and unable to even dress and care for herself was more than scary; it was terrifying beyond imagination. 

“You think people will forget you?”

“Yeah,” Rey said. “I know it’s dumb.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “It’s perfectly normal for someone in your situation---”

“My _situation_ ,” Rey interrupted, sharply. She laughed, something without humor and with more bitterness than someone of her years should have been able. “That’s what you wanna call it?”

“It’s perfectly normal for someone who’s had the kind of traumatic experience you’ve had to be afraid,” Luke continued. “And it’s perfectly normal to feel isolated. But the people who love you will continue to love you. And like it or not, you’ll be dependent on them now---”

“I won’t,” Rey bit. “I’ve never needed anyone.”

“Things change,” Luke said, and there was something in his voice that was close to sorrow. Something that sounded like he’d had his own brush with haunting the lives of the people who loved him. His hand touched her shoulder again, and his eyes were still gentle, but with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry you had to learn it this young. But things change, and we either change with them, or---” Most likely he meant to continue, but there was a knock at the door, and Han entered. 

He and Luke bent their heads together for a few minutes, speaking to each other in hushed whispers. Rey couldn’t hear anything except her own name, but she knew that Luke was telling Han she was being difficult, and that she refused to accept the truth of her situation. It was the same conversation he’d had with her physio, and her doctors, and her other therapists. 

Han came to her beside when Luke was gone and smoothed her hair back from her forehead, giving her a crooked smile that never reached his eyes. “Luke--- I mean, Mr. Skywalker-- I mean, _Doctor_ Skywalker---”

“Spit it out,” Rey said, and for a wonder, she smiled as Han chuckled.

“He said you’re doing really good,” Han said, and honestly, she would have been less surprised if he’d told her there was a comet headed for earth and they only had a few hours left to live. “You’re coming along faster than he expected.”

“I’m being a shit,” Rey said. “He’s lying to you.”

Han laughed, this time strong, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Luke’s used to people acting like shits,” Han said. “He probably didn’t even notice.”

****

As the day of her discharge from the hospital got closer, Rey found herself constantly surrounded by people. Poe and Finn visited her every evening, Poe sometimes sneaking in his guitar and -- on one occasion -- even finding a way to smuggle in BeeBee without any of the nurses being any the wiser. It felt nice to feel his soft fur against her face, and to laugh when he booped her nose with his paw. 

Leia visited, too, and Rey was always surprised by now natural it felt to be with her. She thought with her being the mother of her friend, and with so many years and differences between them, that it would be awkward to spend any time alone with her. But when Leia visited, their conversation was steady, and comfortable, and she always felt stronger after speaking with her, even if it was only for a few minutes. 

Even Chewie visited; and Rey knew it must have been uncomfortable for him to lean so far down just to kiss her forehead, but he did it anyway, and that meant more to her than she could tell him. 

Still, she was happiest when she was with Poe and Finn, when they sat with her and didn’t say much of anything. Rey could listen as Poe strummed his guitar aimlessly and hummed more to himself than the room forever; and she could look into Finn’s eyes, could feel the reassuring curl of his fingers under her hair for the same. Sometimes, she forgot that anything had changed, she forgot that she couldn’t move when they were close to her and filled her up with so much energy and strength and _joy_. 

Late one night, she almost told them how badly, and madly, she loved them, but she was too afraid, and she only watched them fall asleep on the small sofa across the room, curled up together. 

Rey wondered what they would say if she told them they were the light and the happiness that remained in her world. She guessed they wouldn’t know _what_ to say -- that Poe would smile and pet her hair and Finn would blush and keep his eyes on his feet, and she would only love them more. 

On the night before she was discharged, Rey couldn’t sleep, and Finn and Poe ignored the visiting hours entirely and stayed with her. Finn gushed about her coming to live with him, since Leia had insisted that she and Han stay with them until he made his own home more accessible, and Rey smiled, distractedly, through his enthusiastic ramble. 

The fear that she would be forgotten had passed -- but the realization that she wouldn’t walk, that she wouldn’t be able to tinker in the garage and build and create and _fix_ , made her feel... Not sad, not angry, but _useless_. Rey had always prided herself on her independence, and now there she was, unable even to feed herself, reliant on the people around her for the most basic tasks. 

Months before, Rey had waffled over whether or not she would stay in the town, whether she would make it her home and make the people around her her family, and now, all choice had been taken from her. 

“I’ll just be a burden on everyone,” Rey whispered, when Finn had drifted to sleep and Poe was drowsing against the edge of her bed. She hadn’t wanted to dampen Finn’s excitement to have her with him, and she hadn’t wanted to seem ungrateful for Leia’s generous offer to open her home to her, but all she wanted was to be able to run again, to put distance and miles between her and this place. Her love for them seemed to demand that she leave; she would only be a burden. 

“ _Querida_ ,” Poe murmured, sleepily, tenderly. He slipped closer, and she felt the warmth of his breath against her temple. Most people would have given her a grand speech about how wrong she was, about how dearly she was loved and valued and needed, but Poe only whispered one word, that equaled a million others. “ _Never_.”

“I will,” Rey whispered, crying now, and not able to stop herself. Poe’s lips touched her cheeks, her tears, and softly, her lips. And that was something she could feel, down to her core, and it made her hungry in a primal way she’d never felt before. Her crying must have woken Finn, because he was there, with his fingers in her hair and curled at the base of Poe’s neck. 

All she wanted was to pull them closer, to kiss them deeply and _eternally_ if she could manage it. But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t grab Poe’s shirt and pull him nearer, she couldn’t tangle her fingers in Finn’s and press warm, open-mouthed kisses to his palm. All she could do was lie there as Poe kissed her tears away and Finn stroked through her hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispered, and Poe pulled back to look down into her eyes. 

“Don’t ever be sorry,” Poe said. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Rey.”

“She did _one_ thing wrong,” Finn corrected, and Rey saw herself jumping off the end of the pier and into the black water beneath. But Finn smiled, and finished: “She picked the front bedroom in the house. That’s right near mom’s, and she snores like a freight train.”

Poe laughed, and Rey joined him. It didn’t change anything, of course; she was still unable to move, still unable to do the most basic things to take care of herself.

But it changed _everything_ , to laugh and to mean it. 

It changed everything to love and to _be loved back_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some tender moments between our three kiddos here ;3;


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being discharged from the hospital, Rey finds it difficult to adapt to her new life, and finds herself lost in depression and grief. 
> 
> But she learns that she can still create, and she can still win.

Sunlight drifted in through her window, warm on her cheek. The trees, emblazoned in colors of red and orange, boldly stated that summer was over, but the warmth of the sun refuted them. Still, summer was dwindling, and Rey couldn't seem to pull herself out of her sadness. 

Whenever someone mentioned that she might be _depressed_ , she dismissed them. Of _course_ she wasn't depressed, she was only _sad_ , and there was a huge difference. Depression was something heavy, something that draped over you like a heavy cloak and never, ever relented. Sadness was temporary, was fleeting, was like the heat of summer and the cold of winter -- it passed. 

But when she was alone in her room, with nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the distant noise of the house fading into the background, she found herself feeling stifled by her sadness. Almost _choked_ by it. One moment she'd be fine, gazing out the window or watching television or using her mouthpiece to scroll through a book, and the next, her sadness would mount on top of her, oppressively heavy, and she would be unable to think of anything except how miserably _sad_ she was. 

Three months earlier she'd been a girl who prided herself on her independence and her freedom, and now, she was unable to even do the most simple, basic tasks. She couldn't use the bathroom, or bathe, or even scratch her nose without assistance, and the worst part of it all was that she knew she was a burden on everyone and they didn't have the heart to tell her. 

She wished, fervently, that she'd never gone to that stupid party, or been so reckless, and a hundred, thousand, million other little choices that she prayed she could _unchoose_. Things would have been better if she'd refused Poe and Finn and let space form between them; better for her, to be able to leave, to be able to use her own feet and _go_ , and better for _them_ , not to feel so responsible for her.

Leia and Han tried to make her acclimation to her new life and her new home as comfortable as possible, but Rey could see the strain on their faces as they cared for her. They'd never admit it, but they saw her as a drain on their time and their energy. 

But she wasn't _depressed_. Depression was something permanent, something frightening, something like being in the dark forever and ever. And while she found herself in the dark, she was hardly _lost_ there.

How could she be, when Finn and Poe were always with her? They remained her constant and continuous source of joy, and when she was with them, she found herself forgetting, even if just for a moment, that she was confined to a wheelchair and unable even to move her pinky finger. But when they were gone, the darkness seeped back in, and found her staring out her window, dreaming of things she would never have, of a life she would never. 

Luke never told her outright that she was depressed, but he hinted at it strongly. 

“Someone who’s experienced a traumatic loss often goes through the stages of grief, at their own pace. And a loss doesn’t have to mean death. Do you feel like you’re grieving Rey?”

He spoke so plainly, and with such little pretense, that she was always taken aback by the boldness of his questions. She swallowed, just _because_ , and no doubt he scribbled in his little notebook about her being _repressed_ or some other bullshit. “Grieving _what_?” She asked, already knowing the answer, and feeling her chest grow cold and tight.

“The life you wanted,” Luke said, and he said it so softly, that it shouldn’t have struck her so powerfully. It hit her like a hammer in the chest, and she found herself unable to breathe. Only for a moment, but a moment was long enough to let her know he was _right_. “The life you thought you’d live. It’s okay to grieve, Rey. It’s okay to grieve, and to be angry, and to feel lost. You have to take the time to process your grief.”

She was crying, and not even aware that she was. The tears were cold, and it occurred to her that summer really was gone; the summer of her childhood, too, and that hurt enough to make her breath freeze in her lungs again. 

“I’m _not_ ,” she protested, feebly. “I’m just _sad_. It’s not grief and it’s not depression, it’s just---”

“You won’t ever walk again,” Luke said. Gentle, still, and his eyes were the same when they found hers. “That’s something that you have to know, and understand, and accept. You won’t ever walk again. But that doesn’t define who you are.”

Her sadness was eclipsed, suddenly, by her fury. And that was comforting. That was something she could easily process and express. Who was he, to tell her what she wouldn’t ever do? Who was he, to know what she was capable of? Who was he, but someone who was being paid to spend time with her and pretend that he cared about her as more than a source of income? Who was he, but a man who had lost his hand and thought he could possibly understand what she was going through?

“Get out,” Rey snarled. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Luke seemed incapable of being startled or offended by anything she said. He simply stood, gave her a soft apology, and left. She could hear him on the other side of the door, talking with Han, and then he was gone. She waited for Han to come in and reprimand her for chasing off someone who just wanted to help her, but he never did. 

Rey guessed she wasn’t even worth the trouble. 

****

Leia came to her, hours later, her mouth a grim line, but her eyes soft and full of an apology Rey didn’t want from her. 

For nearly a half hour, they sat in silence together, Leia only speaking when she offered her a bite of food. There was a heavy book on her lap, some kind of album, but Rey didn’t ask what it was. That was probably what Leia was waiting for, because after their silence stretched for too long, she opened the book and began leafing through. 

“We were married,” Leia said. “ _Are_ married,” she amended, and Rey thought she caught the hint of a flush on her face. “I forget, sometimes, that we never officially ended anything. I guess it was optimism or just... hope, maybe. Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Rey didn’t think Leia really wanted, or expected, an answer from her, so she stayed quiet. But she was interested, her head tipped forward towards the album open on Leia’s lap. 

There was a picture, old and grainy, of Han with his arms around Leia, both of them young and smiling and obviously in love. Rey was surprised, but not as surprised as she thought she’d be; she’d caught them looking at one another, when they thought no one was watching, and the way they’d watched each other had been sad and longing.

“We had a boy,” Leia said, turning the page to show a chubby baby with a toothless smile sitting between her and Han. She kept flipping the pages, showing him as he grew into a gap-toothed child, and then, a good-looking, if not scrawny and long-limbed, teenager. “Ben,” she said, and there was something heartbreaking about her voice -- a soft sigh that carried too much pain for Rey to understand. 

“I didn’t know,” Rey said, awkwardly, wishing she could reach over and comfort her, but knowing that even if she could, she wouldn’t have. Strong emotion was like an unpinned grenade, and she didn’t want to risk getting too close. The thoughts made her feel cowardly, and she was ashamed of herself as she watched the pain twist Leia’s face. 

“We lost him,” Leia said. She didn’t say how, and there was something about her grief that made it seem like Ben wasn’t dead. Rey didn’t know how they’d lost him, but it seemed that Leia had decided, with finality, that it was the _end_. “I never thought that either of us... That we would ever open our hearts and our homes to children again. But Finn, and you---” Her eyes met Rey’s, and she smiled, even as tears crested and fell down her face. “We love you, more than we thought we could. You’re _ours_.”

No, that couldn’t be right. She’d never had a home or a family. And they were only offering their home to her because she wasn’t capable of making it on her own. They were taking _pity_ on her...

“We love you,” Leia repeated, and Rey could see no pity in her eyes. Only tenderness, and kindness, and _love_.

“And Luke cares for you,” Leia said. 

“He doesn’t---”

“He’s my _brother_ ,” Leia said. “And he _does_.”

Rey had nothing to say to that. She only stared, mouth gaping, until Leia tapped her chin and laughed about her catching flies. 

“No one brought you here ‘cause we _had_ to,” Han said from the doorway, hip leaned against the frame. His arms were crossed over his chest, but he was smiling, with the same tender love that was in Leia’s eyes. “We brought you here because we want you here,” he continued. “‘Cause we love you, kid.”

Again, she was crying, and not even aware until Leia’s thumbs cleared her tears away. 

“Doctor’s say you won’t walk again,” Han said, and this time, Rey didn’t feel anger well up inside of her, but a tired, frightening resignation. “But that doesn’t mean you stop living. You wanna make things, kid? You _make ‘em_. You keep creating and dreaming and hoping.”

“I can’t---”

“Can’t ain’t in your vocabulary,” Han said. He walked close and leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re not just a pretty face, huh?”

“ _Stoooop_ ,” Rey giggled, and she squealed when Han and Leia both planted raspberries on her cheeks. 

Hope was a funny thing, Leia was right. It could be a dangerous thing, a thing that taunted and mocked and remained out of reach. But it could also be a _beautiful_ thing, a thing that reaffirmed and resurrected and _renewed_ someone. 

Hope was, at its core, a _sustaining_ thing. 

****

Over the next few weeks, Rey _created_ , and it felt wonderful. Through a voice recorder, notes that she dictated to Finn and Poe, and voice-recognition technology that was actually a _wonder_ that all three of them marveled at, Rey _created_. 

Finn and Poe were her hands, as well as making their own suggestions for things she should scrap or things she should add. They spent three weeks together in Rey’s room, surrounded by wires and scrap metal and a million other odds and ends, but it was the happiest any of them had ever been. 

Poe played music, and sang at the top of his lungs until Han thumped up stairs and beat on the door and they all dissolved into squeals of laughter. Once, when Poe turned on some music for them to work to, he and Finn danced together, far apart at first, and then closer and closer, their hips aligned and their fingers locked together. And Rey, in a flicker of something small and jealous, envied them, not just because they could dance, but because they could dance _together_. 

But of course, they were there in an instant, flushed and laughing, taking her hands and dancing with her too, awkwardly, but they _wanted_ to be with her, and it lifted her heart more than she could tell them. 

Whenever they were gone from the room, Rey found herself talking through her love for them with BeeBee, who remained a silent and uninterested therapist as he licked himself; but at least he didn’t scratch her. 

****

Rey wasn’t the only one who spent some time speaking to BeeBee about matters that BeeBee honestly couldn’t care less about. When Poe went home, and found himself in his room, with BeeBee purring contently on his chest, he whispered about Rey and Finn, and how badly, and madly, he loved both of them. 

“I can’t just _tell them_ ,” Poe said, flabbergasted by BeeBee’s imagined suggestion. “You can’t just... date two people at once, right? That’s not something that people do, is it? BeeBee? Bee, I’m _talking to you_.” 

He scooped the cat up and held him close to face.

BeeBee bopped his nose and darted off to lick his fur down.

“I’m not paying for this session,” Poe called after him.

****

He was just a little orange and white furball, what good could there be in even talking to him? It wasn’t like he could even understand what Finn was saying, and even if he could, it wasn’t like he could talk back? If he did that, Finn was sure he’d run out of the house screaming. So what good was there in talking to some dumb cat?

It was therapeutic, or something, he guessed. Luke had told him that sometimes just sitting in a room and speaking your problems aloud could help relax you, or help you reach a decision. So what if the room wasn’t empty and there was a big fat cat perched on the arm of the chair watching him?

It was free therapy, right?

“Don’t _judge me_ ,” Finn started, giving BeeBee a narrow glare, before looking around the room to make sure Poe wasn’t going to come barging in. “But I kind of really, really like your owner.”

BeeBee swished his tail.

“Okay, fine, not your _owner_ ,” Finn corrected. “Your friend, whatever. And I mean, that’s bad enough, right? There’s no way that he could ever, like, like me back, right? But then there’s Rey, and I---”

BeeBee meowed sharply, swiping his paw at Finn. 

“What was that about?” Finn demanded. 

BeeBee jumped from the chair and waddled over to the other end of the room to curl up on the floor.

“Well, fine, be that way,” Finn said. “I hope you don’t expect me to recommend you to my friends.”

****

The week before school started, there was a science fair, to encourage the kids to pursue STEM in college and as a career. Mostly, the students yawned their way through it, most of them presenting potatoes fashioned into lights and dioramas about space; but Rey stole the show with her presentation of an actual, working rocket, that they blasted off in the parking lot to the hooting and cheering of the entire assembly. 

She won first prize, and when it was pinned on her, she looked out into the audience to see Leia and Han and Poe and Finn and even Chewie applauding her. The latter even stuck fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, and Rey felt her face flush. 

And later, when it was only her and Poe and Finn, and when the boys were admiring her ribbon and gushing about how proud they were of her, Rey realized that this was where she wanted to be, forever. Even if she’d had the means to leave, she would have stayed. This was her home, and this was her family. 

She loved them. 

She wanted them to know.

“I want to tell you something,” Rey said, and she laughed when she realized Poe and Finn had said the exact same thing, all three of them, in unison. 

When they leaned in close and kissed her, and when their hands were curled so intimately at the small of one another’s backs, Rey guessed there wasn’t always a need for words. 

They had each other. They had a home. 

They had _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!
> 
> it's not a happy ending, but a hopeful beginning. :) thanks again @milleniumrex for commissioning!

**Author's Note:**

> written for @milleniumrex!
> 
> this commission was a lot of fun, and a challenge for me, in the best way. it challenged me to rethink characters motivations and relationships and interactions, and to think about just how important hope is. i genuinely and honestly love all of these characters so much, and i hope that comes through in this story!


End file.
